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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29611839">Moonsickness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuno_Magic/pseuds/Yuno_Magic'>Yuno_Magic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Escapism [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bullying, Character Study, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Escapism, Gen, Henry Stickmin References, Henry is just a sad kid with creative imagination please help him, Hurt No Comfort, Imagination, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Henry Stickmin, No Dialogue, Parallels, The Henry Stickmin Collection - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 16:47:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29611839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuno_Magic/pseuds/Yuno_Magic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As the child walks, he hugs a yellow binder close to his chest. A piece of paper taped onto the front, sketched roughly with pencil and colored in crayon with all shades of blue. </p><p>“The Henry Stickmin Collection.” It says. His only friend keeping him company in the monsters’ dungeon. </p><p>— </p><p>( Title taken from Moonsickness by Penelope Scott )</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Escapism [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Moonsickness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s1">“I've got one-hundred hours to rearrange the stars.</span></em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s1">And I'm the worst mistake that God has ever made.</span></em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s1">You seem to integrate so fucking well.</span></em>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em> <span class="s1">But I make lemons out of lemonade.”</span> </em>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><br/>He walks through the halls. Dust. Grimy and shabby. Cracked paint peeling off the walls. Small, tiny, tentative feet carrying a fragile body through the deep cavern. He’s careful not to wake the monsters up. With their loud , ear piercing shrieks and their sharpened hands. With eyes that cut deeper than knives, pitch black like a void of nothing. They were human. Both in appearance and as a living being. He knew that. But past that shell of flesh, blood and bone he knew... oh he knew... that they were beasts. They might as well be the guardians of the gates of Hell. As the child walks, he hugs a yellow binder close to his chest. A piece of paper taped onto the front, sketched roughly with pencil and colored in crayon with all shades of blue. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“The Henry Stickmin Collection.” It says. His only friend keeping him company in the monsters’ dungeon. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Small locks of white hair settled on his face, bright blue eyes that have lost spark so long ago darted the area. Afraid and paranoid. If the monsters that bore him were demons, then he must be an angel. After all, white means good. White means purity. White means... good. One of the monsters had white for hair. But even that got corrupted overtime. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The child then thinks... could he be a monster too? </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He wasn’t all innocent either. Every time he went to school, traces of evil from the monsters that kept him in their den followed. He too, screamed at other angels. He too, lashed out on other inferior beings. He too, slayed others with his sharp tongue. But he was still... empty. He couldn’t feel any kind of joy from the power he had over those at the school. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t evil. He’s not bad... or maybe he is? How’s he supposed to know? </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">There were other demons, too. There was a group that travels the schoolyard with pins in the shape of fancy top hats glimmering on their chest. A badge they wear with pride. The leader wore a shiny, gold chain. An Apex Predator. That’s what everybody calls him. He and his right hand were mean. They were just as malevolent with the power they held over everybody else. Ugly words unpleasant to the ears and a couple more punches that only sting. But they were just another noise in the background for the albino child. He knew people much scarier than them. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He wishes he could be tall. He wishes he was much stronger. He wishes he was braver. He wishes he was... better. But those would only come true in his twisted little world of silly stick figures and silly, dumb adventures his twisted little mind came up with.</span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">As he walks through the halls of what used to be and shouldn’t be called a home... he dreams of better days and a much more... better life. He dreams of stealing big diamonds, he dreams of kicking people’s butts, he dreams of taking down the world’s biggest criminal organization with a couple of friends. They made him feel better. But in the end... they were just dreams.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">The collection was NOTHING but a dream. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Is this how he’s going to spend the rest of his life? Cowering in fear and playing a game that doesn’t exist? Waiting for someone to come and save him? </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">To be fair he already had done the last part countless times. He cried. He screamed when the monsters seized and hurt him. He wails every night and he wishes every night that someone... SOMEONE... would come to his rescue. To get him out of this hell and take care of him and love him for who he is. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">But no matter how many times he tried... </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>Nobody came.</em> </b> </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You made it to the end, congrats! This is a little snippet I wrote for my AU I call Escapism! This is an AU where the Henry Stickmin Collection was not real and only took place in the mind of a child. More will be posted on my Twitter under the same name @Yuno_Magic. Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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